Thoughts on book publishing, editing, contemporary poetry, dementia, administrative memos, and teaching by the editor of Tinfish Press.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

54

The learning of all universities doth employ him, albeit
not on tenure track. We're
adjunct to the mountains. The island is a loom, we its shift workers.
The gift shop was air
conditioned. Her hands in hot water, she wore high heels on
a concrete floor. When you teach, imagine this: rows of Canons held
by fresh-faced visitors, pointed toward your face
as you explicate Blake.
Emphasize innocence, which garners rave reviews. The students are a
second spectacle. Take, download, crop, and post their pictures. This
is not a charity; we'd monetize the mountains if we could. They're
green, accept change; waterfalls silver in the sunlight. I stuff my
love of poetry in your mouth until you gag on it. Your sickness is
not mine.
It's the one thing of yours I
cannot own.